


Brighter than the Moon

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angry Jensen Ackles, Cute, F/M, Facetime, Fireworks, Fluff, Fourth of July, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Sad Jensen Ackles, Thoughtful Misha, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Jensen’s face-down phone illuminates said table, highlighting all the cracks and stains beneath the surface. Who would be FaceTiming him at 11pm?“You will not believe the size of this Japanese beetle. I never even knew this was growing out here. Did you know Japanese beetles consume more than 300 species of plants? How do they find them all when I barely noticed this damask rose on my balcony?”“Hey Mish.”





	Brighter than the Moon

When Jensen body slams into his mattress, he can’t help the groan that slips out. He doesn’t mind a little overtime. But overtime during summer—his allotted time with his family— _and_ overtime only for them to CGI that shtriga. He should’ve known editing old habits die hard.

He could’ve been spending the weekend watching  _real_ fireworks. But instead, he’ll have to settle for the sample videos from the 4th Annual Austin Fireworks Paddle that encourages people to come out next year.

Next year. _Maybe_ next year. It’s always a maybe in his line of work.

He’s also groaning because he’s flopping onto a Serta mattress in his two-grand monthly apartment with a view. The only thing he’s allowed to complain about are the clouds blocking his view of the city. And yet, here he is, complaining about everything _but_ the view.

Some people can’t afford a nice mattress. Or an apartment. Some people can’t even afford a coffee table, and yet, he’s staring at one littered with red ballpoint pens, old scripts, a white coffee mug with bold black decal that reads “#1 Director” that’s been sitting there so long, there’s a permanent condensation ring keeping it glued there, cracks from impromptu wrestling matches with Jared, and a propped up card a reoccurring cast member gave him on his birthday.

Jensen’s face-down phone illuminates said table, highlighting all the cracks and stains beneath the surface. Who would be FaceTiming him at 11pm?

“You will  _not_ believe the size of this Japanese beetle. I never even knew this was growing out here. Did you know Japanese beetles consume more than 300 species of plants? How do they find them all when I barely noticed this damask rose on my balcony?”

“Hey Mish.”

“Hey. Oh, hold on.”

Misha sets his phone on the ledge. Only the top of his messy head is visible, and a litany of curse words can be heard in the background.

“Okay,” he grunts, picking his phone back up, “sorry, the beetle fell into my glass of Prosecco. I think he’ll be okay.  Hopefully he blacks out and doesn’t remember this tomorrow.”

“Prosecco? Is that the same bottle we—and by we I mean largely _I—_ bought in Rome?”

Misha stills his lips on the rim of the glass. “Maybe.”

“Maybe as in definitely or maybe as in ‘I conveniently just had that epiphany’?”

“The magic wine glass says…” Misha shakes the glass by the stem, swirling the wine inside. “Maybe… I’m a little tipsy.”

Their Facetimes always start and end like this. There’s never a real purpose, and that’s okay. Everything in his life is planned to a T, from acting to conventions to press interviews and flying back home before lathering, rinsing, and repeating.

Jensen’s lips curve into an easy smile. “How are you, Mish?”

“Good.”

“What’s the real answer?”

“That is the real answer.”

Jensen side-eyes him. He always has to ask a second time because Misha’s one of those people who takes the preset answer to that question _way_ too far. “Really?”

“Well, okay, I _am_ a little disappointed in myself…”

“You couldn’t have predicted that beetle’s fate. Look at John Lennon.”

“No, no,” he insists, even though he pauses to giggle. “Good one. No, I wanted to wait until the—” A series of reds, greens, blues, purples, and whites exploding and dispersing across Misha’s face answers for him. He sighs and flips the camera to the view directly outside his balcony.

“I thought, since you’re probably sulking in your apartment right now instead of watching Vancouver fireworks, you’d catch a glimpse of ours. I know it’s not Austin fireworks, but...”

“Are you kidding? They’re beautiful. You’re...” Jensen’s grateful Misha turns the camera back to the blooming multi-color display because his face changes color too. “Thank you. Really. The only thing missing is...”

“Oh right.”

Misha flips the camera again, this time to the emerging figure behind him. He recognizes that cheetah print bandana anywhere, yet his breath still catches. It always does when he sees her. “Danneel? How... when—?”

“Remember when I said I was flying home to see family?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I wasn’t lying.”

A small smile tugging at Jensen’s lips, which are holding back a scoff, grows even wider hearing an unmistakable, high-pitched giggle. “Hi Arrow.”

“Hi Da-dee!”

“Hi Daddy.”

“Hi JJ.”

“Bruuuuuummm.”

“Hi Zepp.”

Again, ever the gazelle with technology, Misha shakily pans the camera down to his three smiling children. When it comes back up—or tries to—it’s shifting in and out of focus. Jensen hasn’t felt this queasy since their boat trip. “Hey, Daniel Myrick. Do I have to give you pointers on how to set up a shot?”

That seems to snap Misha back to focus on himself—something the man rarely does. “Hey Mr. Obscure Cult Movie References—shut up.”

“And line delivery.”

“I’m gonna hang up now.”

“Not if I hang up first.”

“Oh for the love of anything good left in this world,” Danneel gripes, plopping her head onto Misha’s shoulder for emphasis, “would you quit the teen melodrama and just say you love each other?”

“Talk about melodrama,” Jensen remarks.

“She must’ve attended drama school too,” Misha adds.

That sends both of them over the edge with laughter.

“You two are insufferable,” she says, but there’s a smile on her face. “I’d rather tend to five children under the age of 8.”

“And you do it so beautifully, honey.”

“Bye, Jens.”

There’s a moment of silence as it’s just he and Misha, alone again. The soft, now sporadic crackle of fireworks sounds more like a tentative drummer, one still trying to find his rhythm. The only light illuminating Misha’s face now derives from the moon and stars, but Misha always seems to shine brighter. “You know she’s right.”

“What? We’re insufferable?”

“Yeah. Partly because of you. Mostly because of how in love I am with you.”

Misha smiles and the moon and stars turn away from the blinding force. “Love you too. Happy Fourth of July, Jensen.”

“Happy Fourth, Mish.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that title was intentional. (;


End file.
